


Colds, Cats and Afghans

by gingerdean



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean Has a Bad Day, Dean Has a Cat Allergy, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Poor Dean, Sam to the Rescue, Sick Dean Winchester, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-15
Updated: 2017-01-15
Packaged: 2018-09-17 15:04:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9330647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gingerdean/pseuds/gingerdean
Summary: Written for i_speak_tongue's prompt on tarotgal's 2014 comment fic meme:"A sickly Dean's interviewing someone for a case, and ends up having a really rough sneezing fit. So rough that whomever he's interviewing bundles him up in blankets on their couch and insists on calling his "partner" to come pick him up. Dean's too busy sneezing and recovering from sneezing to protest."(So, this is just a re-post from my LJ.  This was the very first fic I ever wrote, so no promises on the quality, lol.)





	

_"Atchoo! hiii-etchoo!"_

Sam sighed. “Bless you. How ya holding up over there, man?”

Dean grunted. He really wasn't in the mood for Nurse Sam right now. Sure, he was suffering from the mother of all colds-The first cold he had come down with in years, in fact. His head was pounding, his sinuses were full and throbbing, and he felt like there was gravel coating his throat. But, whatever. The brothers were knee-deep in a witch hunt right now, and Sam did not need to be spending any of their precious time mother-henning Dean to death. It was bad enough that Dean was half-down for the count. The hunt had yielded few leads so far, and the body count was growing by the day.

They had just caught wind of another death in the area which matched the pattern of the killings so far. Two of the deaths had occurred at the local hospital, and the only connection they could find so far was that both victims had similar-patterned afghans on their beds at the times of their deaths. A nurse informed the brothers that there was an elderly volunteer named Elise Cox who crocheted and donated afghans to patients at the hospital. It wasn't much to go on, but it was a start. 

Sam and Dean had stopped at a local diner for lunch before making their next move. Sam chewed away at his salad, shooting Dean annoyingly concerned glances every thirty seconds or so. Dean picked at his food and pretended not to notice. 

Finally, Sam cleared his throat and spoke. "Dude, you should just go back to the hotel and chill out, ok? I'm gonna check out the local library, see what else I can dig up. Then I'll go visit the afghan lady."

Dean snorted. "No way, dude. I'll drop _you_ off at the library, then _I'll_ check in on Afghan Lady....hih.. _hi..._ hi'E _TCHooo_! _httchh!_ ugh.."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Yeah, She's going to love having your germy ass in her house, snotting all over the place. Seriously, man.."

 _Sniff_. "If she's a witch, I can't wait to snot all over her house. Freakin' witches." Dean coughed and motioned his head towards the door. "C'mon, lets get the show on the road."

Sam sighed in defeat, dropped the tip on the table, and followed his brother to the Impala. Coughing and sniffling the whole way, Dean dropped Sam off in front of the library, then pulled up in front of Afghan Lady's house, which was a few blocks over. 

Dean sloshed through the snow up to the house, grunting with exertion as he made his way up the porch stairs to the front door. He reached his hand out to ring the doorbell, then paused, eyes half closed. "Hih.. _he’ETCHooo!"_ Dean sniffed thickly, reached into his pocket, then realized he hadn't brought any tissues with him. _Terrific,_ he thought to himself, as he swiped at his dripping nose. Dean was about to head back to the car to retrieve his stash of kleenex when the front door swung open. Dean turned around in surprise, quickly swiping at his leaking nose one more time. A short, elderly woman with kind, almond eyes and a warm smile stood before him. “May I help you?”

Dean flashed a broad grin at the woman, whom he presumed to be Mrs. Cox. "Good afternoon Ma’am. My name is Dean. I’m a student at the local University. I heard you're the one who makes afghans for patients at the hospital?"

Mrs. Cox gave a warm smile. "Why yes I do, young man. Why do you ask?"

"Well you see, I, uh...I... hm.. _iiiiichhhooo!"_ Dean turned quickly and sneezed into the crook of his arm. "Uhm, excuse me. What I mean is, My friend and I volunteer at a local nursing home, and we were wondering if you could sell us a few of your afghans, so we can give them to some of our residents." Dean cringed inwardly, immediately feeling like a complete asshole for making up a story like that. He wished he had the foresight to think of a better cover story. His head was in such a damn fog, he could hardly think straight to begin with. 

Mrs. Cox's eyes twinkled. "Oh, I could never sell them, dear. Come on in and pick out what you need, sweetie. What a thoughtful young man you are." She squeezed his shoulder and gave him an admiring smile.

It was salt in an open wound. Dean reminded himself that his lying about helping elderly nursing home patients was for the greater good, and if he could gank this fucking witch (whom he was increasingly convinced was _not_ Afghan Lady), he might save any one of those afghan-less old folks from becoming the next victim. 

"Why thank you maa'm, I'd really appreciate that..." Dean choked on his words as they came out, and started coughing. Mrs. Cox gave him a concerned look, then took his arm. "Come on in, let's get you out of this cold air."

The minute Dean stepped into Mrs. Cox’s house, he started to regret not taking Sam up on his earlier offer. Dean was becoming increasingly congested, his throat was dry and raw, and his sore nose was like a leaky faucet. He felt like crap, and knew he looked it as well. 

Mrs. Cox gave Dean a long stare. "Oh honey, you don't look well at all. Why don't you have a seat for a few minutes. I'll make you a cup of tea, then you can pick out which afghans you'd like to take with you."

A shot or two of whiskey sounded better to Dean, but he had to admit, at this point, a cup of tea sounded good on his throat. At least he thought it did...he couldn’t really remember the last time he drank tea. “Thank you ma’am that..that wou… _he_ …hii’ _HIshooo_!” sniff. “Uh, sorry. That would be great. "

“God bless you. I'll be back in a minute, hon.” Mrs. Cox disappeared into the kitchen.

Dean took a seat on the couch and looked around the living room at the pictures decorating the walls, trying to find anything of significance to the killings. He found nothing. He was, however, relieved to find a box of tissues on the coffee table, and helped himself to a handful. He scratched his nose vigorously with the tissues, aware that his nose and throat were now itching pretty intensely. As if the dripping nose and congestion weren’t enough, the burning and prickling of his sinuses was now reaching unbearable levels. _What the hell?_ he thought. His mental inquiry was answered as he looked to the floor and saw a large, long-haired grey cat waddle out from underneath the couch. Dean watched in horror as another cat emerged from the adjoining room, lazily moseying into the living room. _Awesome. How many cats does this lady have?_ Dean shifted uncomfortably on the couch.

Dean was allergic to cats. So very allergic. Being in the same room with a cat was enough to make him sneeze his head off on a good day. Still, he was Dean Winchester, and in the varied occasions over the years where he had found himself in close proximity to a cat, he was always able to maintain at least _some_ degree of control. But then, he had never before found himself stuck in a room with a cat at the same time as he was battling a massive, sneezy cold. His ticking nose was already sensitive and primed, and with the added assault of the cat dander, Dean quickly found himself losing all semblance of control over the situation. There was no way this visit was going to end well. He was racking his brain for an excuse to leave when a loud sneeze ripped out of him. “ _HeeEETCHOOO!”_

“Bless you!” Mrs. Cox called from the kitchen. “Your tea is almost ready!”

"Um, th..thanks. _hpptch! hmp-shoo!"_ Dean attempted to stifle a pair of sneezes, with moderate success. He could feel his face growing warm with embarrassment (or was it a fever?), as he fought desperately to contain the onslaught of sneezing that was threatening to escape his body.

Dean sat forward, pulled a fresh wad of tissues from the box, and shoved them in his face. He cleared his throat a couple times, the sensation of cat hair in his throat suddenly triggering a harsh coughing fit. 

Dean glanced down as the fat grey cat waddled towards him, looked up at Dean, and proceeded to rub against his leg. Dean glanced up to make sure Mrs. Cox was still in the kitchen. Seeing that she had not yet emerged, he quickly booted the cat with his foot, a bit harder than intended, sending the feline flying across the room with a _Reeeeeoww_! The cat turned and hissed at Dean. Dean flipped the cat off and smirked, basking in his small victory.

Dean's triumph would prove to be short lived, however, as the prickling in his nose began to overwhelm his sinuses yet again. A few moments later, Mrs. Cox entered the living room with Dean’s tea. "Here you are, dear. It's ginger tea- it will be good for that cold, help with the congestion." She reached out to hand him his cup, and Dean froze, in mid-attempt at staving off an impending sneeze. Dean looked up at Mrs. Cox with the intent of saying...well, something, but instead he found himself shooting her a desperate look, as his efforts were lost. And with that, Dean launched into a massive sneezing fit that even astounded himself. "Hi..huh... _..hiiii_ … _hiIIETCHOO_ -etchoo! HE'ETCHH! _iiitchhh_! HEEECH- _ECHH-_ shoo!" Harsh sneeze after harsh sneeze was ripping out of Dean’s body, completely uncontrollable, and with no end in sight. His eyes were streaming, his face inescapably contorted. He was vaguely aware that Mrs. Cox was talking to him, although he could only catch fragments of what she was saying. “…my goodness, _bless_ you, hon… will you be alright?…..you poor thing...” Too enveloped in the fit to even be embarrassed at this point, Dean hunched over with his tissue-filled hand over his face, and continued his epic sneezing fit, wondering if it would _ever_ end. 

As he sneezed, Dean felt the sensation of something warm covering his shoulders, then a warm hand on his shoulder. Finally, the sneezing subsided long enough for him to look up, and with red, teary eyes, he saw Mrs. Cox standing next to him, eyes full of concern. He realized she had draped one of her afghans around his shoulders. An afghan.…which was no doubt covered in cat hair. _Well, shit._

Just then, Dean heard the ringing of his phone. His right hand still clenched to his face with a wad of tissues, he reached in his pocket with his other hand and glanced at his phone. Sam. Talking to Sam was the very last thing he felt like doing right now. He knew his voice was wrecked, he was beyond congested, and it was taking all of his concentration to keep from going into another fit of sneezing. But he knew Sam would fret and worry if Dean didn't answer. He sighed and flipped open his phone. "Mmmph", he mumbled into the phone, his voice muffled by the tissues still pressed to his face.

"Dean? You ok, man?"

Dean reluctantly released the hold of Kleenex from his burning nose. "I'b fide, Sab. You fide adythik?"

"Jesus Dean, you sound like hell. Where are you?"

"I'b still _ahh_...at... ub... _hiih_...hode on a sec.." Dean's nose was again revolting against him, and he could feel another sneezing fit looming. _You've got to be fucking kidding me_ , he thought to himself. He glanced to the corner of the room, where the stupid grey hairball was still sitting, and Dean could swear that the look on the cat's face was one of amusement and satisfaction. 

Dean sat the phone down on the table and buried his face in his hands, surrendering to his overwhelmed immune system once again. " _HEESSHH!_ HPPPSH- _CTCHHH!_ _HURsshoo! eshh!_ hii..uh, _god_...hhiiIIIISHuh-HEEESHHOO!"

As he sneezed, he heard Mrs. Cox talking again, but it took him a minute to realize she wasn't talking to him. He glanced up, and realized she had picked up his phone and was talking to Sam. _What? Oh hell, no_. Dean groaned between sneezes as he listened to her end of the conversation. He was _never_ going to live this one down.

"Yes, I think you should come and get him right away. Yes, that's him you year. Poor thing, he just can't stop sneezing. There's no way he can drive home like this. Oh, thank you."

Dean again felt Mrs. Cox's hand on his shoulder. "Honey, your friend is coming to pick you up. He should be here in a few minutes. Why don't you lie down on the couch until he gets here. "

"Mmmph." Dean was beyond humiliated. He was covered in a cat hair-covered blanket, and now she wanted him to curl up on a cat dander-infested couch. He knew he should go back outside in the fresh air, but inexplicably, he found himself curling into the couch as instructed. The sneezing fits had completely exhausted him, and he felt lightheaded and a bit woozy to boot. This whole visit was a huge fucking mess. Mrs. Cox pulled the blanket around Dean's shoulders, gave his shoulder another squeeze, and handed him several fresh tissues. He accepted them gratefully. His dignity already dead and buried, Dean sighed and closed his eyes.

 

Sam jogged from the library to Mrs. Cox's house, extremely grateful it was only a few block's distance. When he arrived to the house and Mrs. Cox let him inside, Sam's jaw dropped at what he saw. There Dean was, curled up on her couch, covered in a colorful afghan, a damp washcloth across his forehead, snuffling into a fistful of tissues. Sam's first instinct was to search the room for hex bags, because the sight before him was too ridiculous to occur under any other circumstance. Frowning, he approached Dean and awkwardly nudged his shoulder. "Uh...Dean? You ready to go, man?"

 

"Nnggh... _hutchhhuh!"_ sniff. "Sab?"

"Yeah man, it's me. C'mon, let's get you out of here." Sam helped his ailing brother to his feet and directed him towards the door. As he turned to thank Mrs. Cox for her help, he saw her heading towards him with an armful of afghans.

"Here you are, dear. I picked out some of my favorites for you boys. It's so wonderful what you are doing. I'm so happy I can be of help to you."

Sam attempted to not look totally confused as he accepted the afghans. "Uh...Thank you so much, Mrs. Cox. We really appreciate that."

Sam looked on in awe as Mrs. Cox approached Dean and gave him a warm hug, and Dean weakly reciprocated. "You feel better soon, sweetie." Dean nodded pathetically, then turned away to sneeze into his wrist. Mrs. Cox patted him on the back, then turned to Sam and smiled. "You take good care of that young man, ok, dear?" She winked and patted Sam on the shoulder. "Be careful driving on those roads, looks like it's getting slick out there."

Sam nodded seriously. "Yes Ma'am we will. Thank you again."

 

Sam and Dean shuffled out to the car, Dean sniffling and sneezing the whole way. Sam put the stack of afghans in the trunk then turned to his brother.

"Dude...Seriously, what hell happened in there?"

Dean sighed, then wrenched his face away. "hih... _HeTCHoo_!" _sniff_. "Freakid' cats, man. ugh. And this fuckig cold....Jesus... _He'EEESHHOO_!" 

"Hey...hey." Sam turned Dean around by his shoulders so he could see his face. "God Dean, your eyes are really swollen. And...aw, crap." Sam pulled Dean's shirt collar down to reveal several angry, red welts forming on his neck. "You're breaking out in hives, man. Why the hell didn't you leave when you started reacting like that? You thought a better idea was to rub your face all over her couch?"

Dean sighed heavily and closed his eyes. "Just leave be alode, Sab." Dean was so far gone, he couldn't even defend himself right now. All he wanted was a hot shower and a bed to pass out on. Sam felt his concern rise a few notches at Dean's lack of response at Sam's remarks. Sam sighed. "Come on, get in the car, man. Lets get you back to the hotel."

Dean climbed in the car and rested his head against the window. Sam studied him and shook his head. "I'll have to stop and get you some Benadryl first. And we'll have to find a place to ditch the afghans, so that hair doesn't set you off again."

"Mmmm." Dean was already drifting off to sleep. "There's a nursig hobe up the street...We cad drop 'eb off there later od. I bet they'll like to have 'eb..." Sam gave Dean a curious look, then grinned at his brother fondly. "Sure man, whatever you want." He kept one watchful eye on his brother as he drove in the direction of the hotel.

 

The End


End file.
